


Garbage Squad

by penpenhooray



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Crossover Pairings, JB-007 being a boss, M/M, Multiple Crossovers, Violence, defecting stormtroopers, first order crap, stormtrooper bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 09:17:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5863387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penpenhooray/pseuds/penpenhooray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>JB-007 knew after his screw-up on Starkiller, that he would be punished. He was proved right when he was assigned to a "garbage squad," a squad of stormtroopers that everyone knows is simply meant to be cannon fodder during firefights.</p><p>But as the Garbage Squad begins to talk, a plan takes shape. Since the First Order is so quick to throw them away like trash, why don't they throw away the First Order and defect? After all, FN-2187 did it, how hard could it be?</p><p>----</p><p>“If they’re just going to throw us away, why don’t we just...throw them away first?” HR-7137 had first uttered one night after Lights Out.</p><p>“How do you suggest that, kid? Steal a TIE fighter like FN-2187? I doubt it’d be that easy.”</p><p>DN-265 laughed, “Why not just die? That’s what they expect from us, isn’t it?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! Sorry for those of you who are [im]patiently waiting for another chapter of "Wake Up, Sleeper" I promise I'm still working on that! I just had this plot bunny in my head and I thought a change in pace in writing would be helpful.
> 
> So I love the defecting stormtrooper trope, and there is a woeful lack of fics here. And I think we can all agree that JB-007 is everyone's second favorite stormtrooper (second to Finn, of course). And me, being me, I decided that one character cameo wasn't enough. All of the stormtroopers in this fic are cameo/crossovers from some of my favorite ships. I've left some clues as to who they are in their designation numbers, some more obvious than others (in fact, a lot of them should be obvious). Think of it as a I-Spy game. I'll reveal who is who in the next chapter!

It was a terribly risky plan, and they all knew it. 

 

The shuttle jerked and creaked as it entered the planet’s atmosphere, and the flickering lights set a harsh contrast between the dark shadows and the high gloss white of the soldiers’ armor. Their masks revealed nothing of their expressions, though their apprehension was more than obvious in the slightly-too-tight grip most of them had on their blasters.

 

The mission was simple in its parameters: intercept a shipment of weaponry that was being illegally sold to the Resistance, seize any weapons, and capture both the arms dealer and the Resistance contacts.

 

Simple. In theory. 

 

It was in the middle of their transit that they received transmission with updated parameters: it was not a handful of Resistance contacts, it was an entire squadron.

 

“They don’t expect us to survive this, do they?” DR-4913 had muttered shortly after the transmission had been received, “We’re the cannon fodder before the second wave of troops come in.”

 

“Shut up.” JB-007 growled, doing his best as squad leader to keep the other soldiers in line. “You’re to follow orders to the letter.”

 

HR-7137 looked over from his position at the rear hatch, positioned to be the first to deploy, “Shall we continue with--”

 

“Silence!” JB-007 hissed, cutting off all verbal communication. It was only when HR-7137 was silent that JB-007 gave him a curt nod. HR-7137 nodded in response before turning his attention back to the hatch door.

 

“We continue as planned.” JB-007 stated flatly. A simple statement, but all in the carrier nodded solemnly in silent agreement. The senior trooper turned his attention to the communications officer stationed at the command deck of the tiny transport, “All systems go, Corporal?”

 

Corporal Holmes was the only officer on the carrier, and while JB-007 was head of the squadron, the petite man was still considered the man in charge. As it was, the Corporal was not standing on the bridge as was normal protocol, but rather stationed at the carrier’s various panels of computer monitors.

 

Then Holmes turned his attention from the computers to JB-007, his cool blue eyes meeting the blackness of the stormtrooper’s visor, his voice crisp and clear as he answered, “ _ All _ systems are go, 007.”

 

It was a simple statement, though all of the troops stiffened at the Corporal’s words, and it seemed as if all breathing had ceased. Not that JB-007 blamed any of them one bit. They were all on edge. Months of planning were about to be put on the line. Should they fail, they would all die…

 

The Corporal’s voice continued, “Touching down in 3...2..1…”

 

Before the hatch doors had fully opened, the troops were storming down the gangplank, fully embracing what they knew would be their final mission.

 

One way or another, it would be the last mission for all of them.

 

JB-007 had barely made his way down the gangplank when he realized was a crapshoot the battlefield had become. Already the air was filled with blaster fire, and bodies were already littering the ground. HR-7137 hadn’t gotten very far, and JB-007 had to step over the younger soldier’s body to continue his assault.

 

The battle became a blur after that. If one could call it a battle. It was obvious that the stormtroopers stood little to no chance against the Resistance fighters, and the bodies were dropping faster than they could fire off rounds. DN-265, their heavy artillery expert, went down with a series of multi-lingual expletives, and wherever DN-265 was, CS-777 was sure to be as well. It wasn’t long before the other was lying face down in the dirt next to the foul-mouthed gunner.

 

JB-007 didn’t see DR-4913 go down, only that the young soldier was sprawled out on his back, blaster in his limp hand.

 

That was all the squad leader was able to see before it was his turn to hit the dirt in a dead drop as an explosion of pain crossed his chest, blaster falling uselessly at his side and all vitals ceasing.

 

* * *

 

 

When JB-007 opened his eyes again, it was dusk DR-4913 was shaking his shoulder.

 

“Sir, you need to wake up.” DR-4913 hissed, his voice barely above a whisper. The younger trooper had taken off his helmet, exposing his pale features to the planet’s elements.

 

JB-007 groaned, pulling himself into a sitting position, “How long was I out?”

 

“Long enough to miss the SOL scan and the Resistance’s retreat.” 

 

The squad leader nodded, “Good...that’s good…” The SOL, or Signs of Life, was crucial to their plan. And considering they were still alive… “We do we have?”

 

“HR-7137, of course. Bloody lucky bastard...” DR-4913 drawled, helping his commanding officer to his feet, “DN-265 and CS-777 are also alright, they’re checking on the Corporal. TO-2941 took a nasty blow to the shoulder, so BB-922 is worried sick about him.”

 

JB-007 grit his teeth. Hopefully TO-2941’s injury wouldn’t be too severe...they had come too far to lose someone now…”Anyone else?”

 

DR-4913 shook his head, “...I couldn’t wake the others...they had serious blast wounds…”

 

JB-007 sighed, removing his helmet. If the Corporal was alright, that would make eight of them...grimly, JB-007 couldn’t help but think that eight survivors was more than he had dared hoped.

 

“Alright then, we continue as planned. Strip down to your All-Blacks and see if there’s a Resistance body out there with clothes you can borrow.”

 

DR-4913 nodded, quickly moving to follow his orders while JB-007 moved back toward the quiet carrier.

 

HR-7137 was sitting on the gangplank, already wearing what appeared to be a Resistance pilot’s jumpsuit, and his face completely covered in blood.

 

“You look like Bantha shit, 7137.” JB-007 growled, though there was no heat behind the comment.

 

The younger soldier shook his head, “Don’t worry sir, BB checked it out, and it just looks worse than it is, head wounds and all. My helmet took the brunt of it.” As if to prove his point, HR-7137 held up his helmet, where a piece of shrapnel was protruding from his visor.

 

“I’ll be damned, 4913 was right.” JB-007 shook his head, “You’re a damn lucky bastard.”

 

“Damn right, sir!” 7137 grinned, making his youth all the more apparent to the squad leader. 

 

Shaking his head, JB-007 made his way onto the ship. Both CS-777 and DN-265 were standing on the bridge, helmets off, fretting over Corporal Holmes. The Corporal was sprawled over the computer console, unresponsive.

 

“He ain’t waking up.” DN-265 grunted, running a hand through his dark blond hair out of agitation.

 

JB-007 knelt next to the Corporal, checking for any signs for what the problem might be. The answer came from a tiny syringe sticking out of the young officer’s shoulder.

 

“He drugged himself too?” CS-777 raised an eyebrow, curious.

 

“Of course he did.” JB-007 nodded, “He had to beat the SOL just like we did.” He quickly examined the needle, “Looks like he took too much…”

 

The Corporal had the antidote in his boot, JB-007 knew that. It was part of the arrangement that he would have revive the officer should the drug take a nasty turn. Ungloving quickly, JB-007 grabbed the Corporal’s hair to tilt the officer’s head to one side while he drove the antidote syringe into the jugular. It was seconds before Corporal Holmes jerked upright, gasping for breath.

 

“Welcome to the land of the living, Corporal.” JB-007 smirked at the young man.

 

The officer groaned, pulling the syringe from his neck, “Did I overdose?”

 

“Sure did.” DN-265 nodded, “We’re running behind schedule. We’ll need to get moving if we want to be as far from here as possible before it gets dark.”

 

JB-007 grunted in agreement, “You two go, get out of your armor. Find BB-922 and TO-2941, make sure they’re ready to move out. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

 

Both soldiers nodded before moving out, leaving JB-007 and Corporal Holmes on the bridge of the abandoned ship.

 

“Come on, Corporal, let’s get you up and moving.” JB-007 muttered, helping the officer to his feet.

 

“Not exactly a Corporal anymore now, am I?”  The younger man growled.

 

“Well do you want us to call you by your first name?” JB-007 raised an eyebrow, “Isn’t it something like--”

 

“Just call me Q, JB-007.” The officer’s uniform jacket was quickly shed, dropping to the bridge floor, along with the First Order regulation cover,releasing the young man’s dark locks, “Come on then, like you said, we have ground to cover.”

 

With that, the ex-Corporal walked off the ship, JB-007 following close behind.

 

* * *

 

 

They were a garbage squad. Not that any of the higher ups would officially define it as such, but it was common knowledge among the stormtroopers. Garbage squads were cannon fodder, made up of troopers that the First Order wanted to get rid of, but didn’t want to waste the firepower or the costs of decommissioning. They were always the first troops into the line of fire, the first to be killed while the valuable soldiers followed behind.

 

There were a wide array of reasons a trooper could find themselves on a garbage squad: poor combat performance, low marksmanship scores, too many reconditionings, insubordination, age…

 

JB-007 knew he had been placed as squad leader of the doomed squadron for two reasons: the first was his age. The second was his failure to guard the Resistance prisoner, which had led to the destruction of Starkiller. To this day, he still had no idea how she had escaped, only that he had sentenced to a new squad.

 

The entire squadron knew, when they had first entered their new barracks, that they were doomed to die.

 

And shortly after,they had made the decision to escape.

 

 _“If they’re just going to throw us away, why don’t we just...throw them away first?”_ _HR-7137 had first uttered one night after Lights Out._

 

_ “How do you suggest that, kid?” JB-007 yawned. 7137 was the youngest in the squad, and the squad leader had no idea who the kid pissed off to have him land on death row. “Steal a TIE fighter like FN-2187? I doubt it’d be that easy.” _

 

_ DN-265 laughed, “Why not just die? That’s what they expect from us, isn’t it?” _

 

That had sparked the idea to fake their deaths in the line of duty. No one cared about death stormtroopers, it wasn’t too unbelievable they they could just...play dead.

 

DR-4913 was the voice of cynicism.

 

_ “It won’t work, you know.” He drawled, “They do a SOL scan after the battle to search for possible prisoners. They catch you on that, they’ll execute you for treason.” _

 

4913, while a pain in the ass, had a point. They couldn’t just play dead, they had to  _ be _ dead. At least for while.

 

_ “They have drugs that can do that.” BB-922 pointed out, “Not on purpose, of course. But with the right doses...it can make vitals drop low enough...I’ve seen it happen...when I used to work Sanitation in Medical...I mean...if we were going to do this…” _

The plan had begun to form now. They just needed to get the drug...and figure out how to administer it during the heat of battle...without killing themselves for real.

 

That was where Corporal Holmes came into play.

 

The Corporal was the officer assigned to oversee their operations (more like fill out their casualty reports when the time came), and JB-007 could clearly see the young officer’s discontent with the situation.

 

That being said, it still took JB-007 months of building rapport with the Corporal before he could even  _ suggest _ the escape plan, let alone elicit his help. One wrong word, and it would mean his execution, if not the execution of the entire squad.

 

The Corporal’s response had surprised JB-007.

 

_ “That...could actually work…” The young man blinked, “You lot thought of that yourselves?” _

 

_ JB-007 could only nod. _

 

_ “Well, I’ll see what I can do...on one condition.” The Corporal smirked, “Take me with you.” _

 

That had been an offer the garbage squad couldn’t afford to turn down.

 

So the plan began to move into motion. Corporal Holmes arranged for BB-922 to occasionally be placed on a Sanitation shift in Medical. Every shift, BB-922 would sneak a vial of the drugs they needed. They didn’t dare steal any more than that at any given time, lest they raise suspicion. At with the game they were playing, suspicion meant death.

 

They went on several missions in the meantime, and lost a lot of troopers in the process. But they couldn’t let that stop them. It was a race against time, and there were only two possible winners in this race: Freedom, or Death.

 

They had the plan, they had the drug, all they needed was the execution. And the Corporal had that figured out as well.

 

_ “I’ve made capsules filled with the drug.” He said one day, “On the day we decide to do this, we’ll make incisions to place them under the skin. I’ve calculated the amount you’ll all need, so it’ll just knock you out for an hour or so, long enough for the SOL to sweep over.” _

 

_ “How will you keep us from all dropping before the fighting even starts? That’ll raise alarms, SOL or no.” _

 

_ “I have the capsules rigged to remote detonation.” The Corporal replied simply, “Don’t look surprised, JB-007, did you think officers got to where they are by standing there and looking pretty?” _

 

_ “I’m not answering that.” JB-007 replied. _

 

_ The Corporal smirked, “Anyway, when I’m on the bridge, I’ll trigger the capsules at random intervals so that you don’t all drop like Separatist droids.” _

 

_ “And what about you? If they find you on the SOL, they’ll take you back, even if they don’t execute you.” _

 

_ “I’ll have to take mine the old fashioned way, through syringe.” Holmes replied. “And regardless of my calculations, there’s a risk of overdose. I had BB-922 steal a vial of the counter-drug, and I’ll keep it in my boot. Should something go wrong...you may need to use it.” _

 

And so the plan was set in motion. The mission began, and stormtroopers dropped dead in the battlefield, some for real, some...not so much. JB-007 didn’t dare question whether his dead squadmates were dead from Resistance fire or from a miscalculation in the deadly drug...he couldn’t bring himself to ponder on that.

 

As it was, the rag tag group was searching the other dead bodies for suitable clothing, as they couldn’t just walk around in their stormtrooper whites, now could they?

 

HR-7137 was the only one who had decided to wear a pilot’s jumpsuit, which JB-007 would have chastised him for it’s conspicuousness...had they not been on a time crunch, and the suit seemed to fit him (the squad leader had a suspicion that the jumpsuit had belonged to a female pilot, as the young soldier was so slender). As for the rest of them, they found what they could: a jacket here, a shirt there. Not enough for full outfits, just enough so that they wouldn’t stand out too much in their All Blacks.

 

It was as JB-007 was slipping on a shirt that wasn’t too scorched by blaster fire that he finally saw BB-922 and TO-2941. 

 

Of all the misfits in the garbage squad, BB-922 was the smallest. He was rather short for a stormtrooper (though he insisted he was perfectly normal, thank you very much), even HR-7137 towered over him. As it was, the shirt BB-922 had chosen to wear had the sleeves rolled up several times.

 

And then, there was TO-2941.

 

TO-2941 was no doubt the soldier that JB-007 could best describe as a kindred spirit. He was the same age as JB-007, if not older (there really was no telling with some troopers), and had weathered many a battle. Both men had been sentenced to the garbage squad for the simple fact that they were mortal, and the sands of time had already begun to work against them. JB-007 could already see the shocks of gray that streaked through TO-2941’s ebony hair, and no doubt his own brow was etched with a few less-than-fine lines.

 

But it wasn’t TO-2941’s hair that had JB-007’s attention. It was his arm.

 

DR-4913 had said TO-2941 had taken a bad hit to the arm. That, had been a terrible understatement. The blaster fire had obviously been enough to strike through TO-2941’s armor, as well as his All Blacks, to scorch and cook the flesh beneath. As it was, the older soldier’s arm was hanging limply at his side.

 

“How is it?” JB-007 found himself asking, looking at the damage.

 

BB-922 looked downright nervous, “It looks worse than it is! It’s just a first degree burn. If we can wrap it, it’ll be right as rain in a week or so…”

 

TO-2941 shrugged with one shoulder, “I’ve had worse.”

 

JB-007 nodded numbly, barely registering the lie before turning to BB-922, “Why don’t you double check on HR-7137’s headwound? I want to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion.”

 

The squad leader waited until BB-922 was out of hearing range before turning his attention back to TO-2941, “How is it, really?”

 

The old soldier sighed, “It’s bad, sir.” He sighed, “I can’t move it at all. I don’t know why 922 thought he could fool you with that first degree burn nonsense, the bicep looks burned the whole way through…”

 

“I take it he used quite a bit of painkillers to keep you from showing the pain?”

 

TO-2941 nodded slowly, “I don’t know who he’s trying to fool…” With a sigh, the older man ran his good hand through his hair, “I think you should decommission me before you head out….before 922 starts thinking it was his fault…”

 

“No.”

 

“Come on, we both know what this arm means.” TO-2941 growled, grasping the front of JB-007’s shirt, “I’ll only slow you down, and we both know what happens to soldiers who can’t shoot!” There was a desperate look in TO-2941’s blue eyes, “Let an old soldier keep his dignity…”

 

“I’d rather you keep your life.” JB-007 grit his teeth, “I’m not losing any more men tonight.”

TO-2941 shook his head, “The pain killers won’t last forever...after that...who knows if I’ll be able to even walk, let alone be of any use…”

 

JB-007 smirked, “Well then, we better move quickly then.”

 

* * *

 

 

If there was one thing that Finn really adored about the Resistance bases, it was the beds. Or rather, it was that he was never in bed  _ alone _ . There was simply something to be said about waking up with a strong arm holding you around your middle, and loving kisses peppered down the length of your neck.

 

“Nnn, that tickles, Poe…” Finn yawned, slowly shaking the sleep from his mind. Normally, he wasn’t the type to sleep in, but after an... _ exhausting _ night, he indulged himself with a late morning.

 

Behind him, Poe chuckled, “I was hoping it would do more than just tickle, Finn.” The pilot moved to press kisses along Finn’s jaw line.

 

“No, none of that!” Finn laughed, climbing out of bed despite Poe’s whines, “We’re probably late to check on Jessika and the rest of your squad, aren’t we? And you don’t want to make her even more mad, now do we?”

 

Poe groaned, flopping back onto the bed, “You know I hate it when you’re right…”

 

“No you don’t.”

 

“You’re right…”

 

Finn was halfway through getting dressed for the day (even if most of his wardrobe was courtesy of Poe), when there was a heavy knock against their door.

 

“Come in!” Finn called over the sounds of Poe’s mumbled “go away!”

 

The door opened with a pneumatic hiss to reveal Jessika Pava, already in her flight suit, and carrying a datapad in her hand, “Sorry to break up the morning-afterglow, you two.”

 

Finn blushed faintly at the thought, “Sorry that we’re late to check in with your squad, Jessika. I’ll have Poe to the hangar as quickly as I can.”

 

“I’m sure you will.” Jessika smirked, looking at Poe (who, while he had finally stumbled out of bed, was quite baffled in his quest for pants). “Anyway, when the Commander is awake enough, some of the pilots spotted something odd while going through their morning flight exercises.”

 

Finn, in the absence of Poe’s attention, stepped in to observe the image Jessika had on her datapad, “Where was this taken?” He asked, zooming in on the image.

 

“About five miles from the base, about twenty minutes ago. We think it might be some refugees from the aftermath of the First Order’s attack last night.” Jessika nodded, “From the looks of things, one’s injured pretty bad, he’s being carried by the others.”

 

It was true, Finn could see that much. But there was also something off… “Did you find it strange that one of them is wearing a pilot suit, but he’s clearly not one of ours?”

 

Jessika gave Finn a scathing look, “ _ Yes _ , as a matter of fact, I did. Especially since we  _ lost _ a pilot last night.” She shook her head, “Which is why I wanted to show the Commander, see what he wanted us to do.”

 

Finn nodded absently, absorbed by the image. There was something vaguely...familiar about it all. He didn’t recognize the faces, but there was somthing...wait, what was that? Finn zoomed in as far as he could before the image pixelated, examining each and every one of the figures making their way toward the base.

 

“They’re wearing All Blacks.” Finn realized as he observed their necks, the tell-tale necklines becoming more than apparent.

 

Jessika raised an eyebrow, “Excuse me?”

 

“All Blacks, it’s what stormtroopers wear under their armor. It’s a homeostasis material.” Finn nodded, handing the datapad back to Jessika, “Get a carrier ready or whatever will hold passengers.”

 

“Or prisoners.” Jessika added.

 

“Yes, yes, or prisoners.” Finn grabbed his jacket before looking back into the room, “Poe, hurry up and get some pants on, we have rogue stormtroopers out there!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? Two chapters in two days? Don't get too used to it, I was just on a roll.
> 
> I know I said I was going to reveal the identities of the Garbage squad (besides 007 and Q, those two were obvious), but it just hasn't come up yet, and I want to see if anyone can guess their identities. I think I'll even have it so that when someone guesses a stormtrooper's identity, I'll reveal it in the story (though it'll be easier when you realize it's with pairings).
> 
> Anywho, I hope you enjoy!

“You think they saw us?” BB-922 murmured as several Resistance X-Wings flew overhead, no doubt taking part in flight exercises.

 

“Well they definitely saw HR-7137, he’s a walking distress signal.” DR-4913 scoffed.

 

HR-7137 flashed DR-4913 a rude hand gesture, though there was still  a small smile on his face.

 

DN-265 grunted, shifting his grip on TO-2941, who was slung over the gunner’s shoulders in a dead weight, “We got a plan for when we actually get there? You know, one that doesn't involve us getting shot on sight?”

 

In all honesty, JB-007 had no idea what the plan was. They had been so concerned with actually pulling off their escape, he doubted  _ any _ of them even gave any thought to what would happen  _ after _ escape.

 

“We have crucial information on the First Order’s newest weaponry, as well as several of their most current battle plans.” The Corpor-- Q muttered lowly, his cheeks flushed from walking all night.

 

CS-777 raised an eyebrow, “We do?”

 

Q smirked, “Now I know you boys wouldn’t know much about social niceties, but the first rule about social etiquette--” he reached into his pocket, withdrawing a datachip, “is never show up to a party empty handed.” 

 

“You steal that before we left?” DN-265 raised an eyebrow, “Guess there’s a reason why you’re the brains and we’re the grunts.”

 

“If I remember correctly, faking our deaths was  _ your  _ idea.” DR-4913 snorted. “And how does that datachip stop them from shooting us on sight?”

 

“It doesn’t.” Q shook his head, “But there’s one big difference between the First Order and the Resistance.”

 

“What would that be?” BB-922 asked curiously, sticking close to DN-265 and TO-2941.

 

“The Resistance usually doesn’t shoot first.” Q replied simply, “They’re more retaliatory shooters.”

 

It was then that the ground twenty feet away exploded from X-Wing fire, showering the rag tag group with clods of dirt and rock and throwing them to the ground below.

 

“You wanna run that by me again, Corporal?!” DN-265 shouted, nearly dropping TO-2941 from the force of the explosion.

 

“I kriffing said  _ usually _ !” Q screamed, pounding his fist against the grass, “And don’t call me Corporal!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Well, there goes the warning shot.” Jessika smirked from her position in her X-Wing’s cockpit, “Blue Three to Black One, warning shot fired, no return fire from bogeys.”

 

From the cockpit of the carrier ship, Poe rolled his eyes, “Pava, you know I’m only Black One when I’m in my X-Wing, right?”

 

Though if Poe was honest with himself, he would much rather be in his X-Wing, instead of manning the carrier ship. There was something to be said about the drawbacks of being a Commander, sometimes he had to play the diplomat...especially with the General not in the system…”Blue Three, what’s the status on our rogue stormtroopers?”

 

“Well...looks like they threw down their weapons.” Jessika began, “And, op, would you look at that, I got seven sets of hands in the air. That’s a bit anti-climatic.”

 

“Yeah, well I guess they didn’t think they could take on an X-Wing with just blasters.” Poe shook his head, cursing the slow movement of the cruiser from seeing the scene with his own eyes, “And I thought there were supposed to be eight of them.”

 

“The eighth is just kinda lying on the ground...I’m not sure if he’s conscious.”

 

Poe didn’t answer, instead waiting until the cruiser crested the last hill before he could see the scene for himself.

 

And damn, if they didn’t look like the motliest crew Poe ever saw (and growing up in the Resistance, that was saying something), he could even swear he saw a couple of scrawny kids who were shivering slightly in the morning air (including the one wearing their fallen pilot’s jumpsuit). And, sure enough, seven were on their knees, hands in the air (or resting behind the back of their head, in the case of one of the blonde stormtroopers). The eighth, like Jessika said, was laying on the ground motionless, not even responding as the carrier landed noisily on the ground.

 

Now more than ever, Poe wished he had brought Finn along with him. 

 

“What is it with you and collecting stormtroopers?” Snap smirked from his position as co-pilot. “You gunna name all these ones too?”

 

“Shut up.” Poe rolled his eyes, getting up from his seat and grabbing a blaster from the weapons locker, “We don’t know what to expect with this lot, now do we?”

 

“Didn’t know what to expect with Finn, now did you?”

 

“That’s it, you're grounded.” Poe muttered under his breath, stepping off the carrier to approach the group.

 

The moment Poe stepped into view from the carrier, seven pairs of eyes focused in on him, watching his every move. Last time Poe had dealt with stormtroopers face to face, he had been fresh out of torture and flying a TIE fighter into a death spin. He’d like to think he had the upperhand on this one…

 

That being said, it was still seven (technically eight) on one.

 

“Right then.” Poe gripped his blaster at the ready, keeping it level with the unknowns present, “One of you gets to tell me why the hell a bunch of stormtroopers are heading towards a Resistance base wearing the clothes of dead Resistance fighters.”

 

There was a pause, and Poe kept a careful watch on the faces (one of the useful things of dealing with helmetless stormtroopers: zero pokerface): the command as barely out of Poe’s mouth before the stormtroopers were turning their gaze toward an older soldier with faded blond hair, his brow weather worn and lines etched on his face. The old trooper, in turn, glanced at a dark haired young man beside him.

 

The blond trooper, Poe could understand. Probably the leader. The young man, on the other hand, not so much. He didn’t look like a soldier, even less so than the shivering kids, and Poe could clearly see from the young man’s hands that there was no sign of calluses or any other blemishes to be expected from combat.

 

Not a soldier then. Then what?

 

“We were escaping the First Order.” The young man spoke, briefly running a hand through his curly black hair, “And we are willing to trade First Order information in exchange for asylum.” The hand that ran through his hair reached down to his pant pocket.

 

Poe directed the blaster at the not-a-trooper, “Hey, keep those hands where I can see them!”

 

“Sorry, I just have a datachip in my pocket!” The young man replied, “But please, we’re in desperate need of medical attention!”

 

Poe spared a glance at the motionless trooper. He could see a wound on his right arm, but he couldn’t see how bad, nor could he risk it while he was outnumbered.

 

“Alright, alright!” Poe nodded, “Let’s get you back to base first, then we’ll discuss everything. One by one, walk to the carrier where the captain is going to put you in binders. You may be refugees, but we can’t be too careful. Start with the young one.”

 

The jumpsuit trooper was the first to move, making his way to the carrier where Snap was waiting with a pair of binders. It was only when the young trooper was in binders and inside the carrier that Poe felt safe allowing the next soldier, a pale teen with white blonde hair and pointed features, follow him. Then the short, honey-haired one. Then a dark-haired soldier who was drowning in a large overcoat. The stocky blond who looked ready to pick a fight. Then the not-a-soldier. The older leader blond was the last to go, and it was only when he was past Poe that the commander felt safe to inspect the wounded  stormtrooper.

 

He did not like what he saw.

 

“Kriff!” Poe shouted, pulling his hand away from the mutilated arm, “Snap!”

 

“What’s wrong, Commander?”

 

“Radio Medical!” He turned back towards the carrier,  mind working a lightyear a minute, “Tell them they’re going to get very busy in T-three minutes!”

 

Snap, thankfully, did not have a sarcastic comment, as he disappeared into the carrier to radio the base. Leaving Poe to move the wounded man onto the carrier himself.

 

Or at least try.

 

“Ugh, why is he so heavy?” Poe grunted as he tried to heave the man off the ground, “This guy’s made of stone or something?”

 

“Let me help.”

 

Poe looked up to see the older trooper, not quite to the carrier, and therefore not wearing binders. Logically, Poe knew that the trooper was still a risk and he should wait until Snap was available to help. But the Commander also knew they didn’t have that kind of time. “Come on!”

 

The old trooper seemed to put Poe to shame in strength, picking up the wounded soldier’s legs like he were nothing but a heap of rags. Together, they managed to awkwardly maneuver the fallen trooper onto the carrier, laying him on the floor.

 

Snap looked up from his position at the copilot’s seat, “Holy kriff! That guy still kicking?”

 

Poe roughly pulled on the soldier’s collar, exposing his neck so he could check for a pulse, “For now, but who knows how much time he’s got left. Move over, I’m flying this thing as fast as she can go!” He didn’t give Snap a chance to respond, already in the pilot’s seat and pushing everything to full throttle.

 

As if this morning needed to get any more interesting.

 

* * *

 

 

“So was getting placed in binders part of the plan?” DR-4913 drawled, holding up his wrists in annoyance.

 

“This is a minor inconvenience, and you know it.” HR-7137 shot back, “They could have just shot us and taken the datachip.”

 

“This is very true,” CS-777 nodded slowly, staring out through the carrier window. “though there’s no guarantee that they won’t torture us to ensure our information is not a trick.”

 

“Kriff, 777, don’t say shit like that.” DN-265 muttered, elbows resting on his knees, “You’ll scare the kids…”

 

BB-922 looked about ready to be sick in the middle of the carrier. JB-007, with his free hands, rested one of them on the smaller’s knee, “It’s going to be alright, 922.”

 

“No it isn’t.” 922 shook his head quickly, “You heard them, sir. They’re getting Medical prepared for our arrival. They’re going to take 2941, we can’t let him go to Medical…”

 

“922…” JB-007 took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation he was about to have, “I think it may be for the best.”

 

BB-922’s blue-green eyes widened in horror, “How can you say that? No, 2941 can’t go to Medical. You know they’ll--”

 

“I do.” The squad leader nodded slowly, “And...I think we need to accept that he needs to be decommissioned.”

 

“No.” 922 shook his head rapidly, “No, don’t say that...you’re mistaken...he’s fine...he doesn’t need…”

 

“He’s not fine, 922, and you know it.” 007 pointed to 2941’s body on the carrier floor, “He is going to die, either right there, or through Medical decommissioning. Which would you rather have him go through?”

 

“You haven’t seen decommissionings, 007.” 922’s fists were balled tightly on his knees, “I’ve seen them...when I worked shifts in Medical…”

 

“2941’s so far gone, I doubt he’ll feel anything.”

 

“There has to be something…”

 

“You know there isn’t, 922.” It was then that JB-007 noticed BB-922’s eyes, and how they were red-rimmed and filled to the brim with tears. A sense of dread filled JB-007 as realization settled over him, “922…” He lowered his voice, “...were you and 2941  _ fraternizing?” _

 

The way 922 froze completely under JB-007’s touch gave him all the answer he needed.

 

Careful to make sure his voice was low enough to not be heard by the others, he continued, “I’m not going to report you, 922….we’re going to lose 2941 today, we don’t need to lose you as well.”

 

922 nodded slowly, “Thank you…” He whispered. “...he was supposed to make it…”

 

JB-007 didn’t answer, simply leaving 922 to his thoughts as another trooper caught his attention.

 

HR-7137 was blinking. A lot. The youngest of their squad was blinking his emerald green eyes repeatedly, squinting every so often trying to focus on the far wall of the carrier.

 

No...not another one….

 

“7137, can you see?” JB-007 hissed lowly, trying to keep from gaining the attention of the Resistance pilots.

 

The young pilot stiffened, “I can see, sir.” He murmured, “It’s just...distances…”

 

“7137…”

 

“It’s within regulations, sir, I swear!” The young man rubbed his bound hands over his face and shaved head, “It’s within regulations...I was never sent to Medical for it before…”

 

JB-007 wasn’t too sure about that. There was a different between First Order Medical and Resistance Medical, and none of them knew what that was. Their situation was rapidly spinning out of control. Freedom was confusing and heartbreaking…

 

* * *

 

 

Finn wished he could have gone with Poe on the mission to recover the rogue stormtroopers, but he understood why he couldn’t. He wasn’t exactly an official rank in the Resistance, and no one was quite sure what position he should have. No rank meant he wasn’t a pilot, so no flying with Poe except for joyrides.

 

Not that he minded too much. The past year had been a great experience in trying a wide variety of things around the base, and helping out anyone who needed it. It was rather fun, if he did say so himself.

 

“Oi, Finn!”

 

Finn looked up from where he was helping the X-Wing techs repairing Snap’s hyperdrive to see Iolo Arana staring up at him, “What’s up Iolo?”

 

“Commander needs you in Medical!”

 

Finn couldn’t help but feel his blood run cold at the mention of Medical. Even after a year with the Resistance, there was simply some things about the First Order that were harder to shake than others, and being in Medical was one of them. 

 

And if Poe was there… “Did something happen? Is Poe alright?”

 

“Relax, the Commander’s ass is fine, as usual.” Iolo snorted, “But apparently they’re bringing in all the troopers they found for physicals to make sure they aren’t carrying any biological weapons, and one of the troopers has a badly injured arm.”

 

Finn frowned, “But why does Poe need me--”

 

“Yes, why would Poe need you, the only ex-stormtrooper on base, to assist in the care of other stormtroopers?”

 

“Fine, fine, point made.” Finn rolled his eyes, jumping down from the X-Wring, “Let me get cleaned up--”

 

Iolo shook his head, “No time. They’re arriving in less than a minute, and the doctors have been told to prep for possible amputation of the wounded arm.”

 

Ampu--Finn had to resist the urge to vomit. Amputation was not in the First Order repertoire of medical procedures, an injury that bad would result in decommissioning. And if the stormtroopers brought in were anything like Finn had been, Medical would have their hands full reluctant patients.

  
Finn was out of the hangar at a full sprint before Iolo could explain more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that chapter wasn't as long, but that's the best place I could cut it without it stretching on forever.  
> And Finn's on the way to save the scared troopers from the horrors of Medical! 
> 
> Aww, poor BB-922/TO-2941, their love seems as tragic as it was in their own story. But I'm sure they'll find a happier ending here with the Resistance than they did in---well, wherever their story took place.
> 
> Let me know what you guys think, or what ideas you have for the story (or who our troopers might be)!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it, even if it was relatively light on the stormpilot at the end. Did you guess who everyone was? 
> 
> I don't know why, but I love my little Garbage Squad, and if I had any artistic ability, I'd draw them all in their stormtrooper armor.
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think, and what you'd like to see in future chapters.


End file.
